


In the Dark

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Especially the lies, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Jadzia is a Bro, M/M, Rating May Change, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, neurodivergent julian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: Garak begins visiting  Julian's quarters at night, with a different reason each time. Julian works to uncover the truth, while also examining his feelings for Garak.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 44
Kudos: 116





	1. The Freighter

**Author's Note:**

> Since this fic has a neurodivergent Julian, his thoughts and experiences are based on my own. I don’t consider it much of a stretch, considering his augmentation, parents, and childhood. So, while this is definitely a Garashir piece, it’s going to cover a lot of Julian’s perceptions of life on DS9.

Julian was so tired. Bone-deep, aching muscles, foggy-brain tired. Thirty-seven point eight hours of triage and surgeries had been a daunting task. It would have been nearly impossible for most doctors, but Julian Bashir was not most doctors. His augmented brain and body allowed for prolonged periods of alert activity, and he never hesitated to take advantage of that when lives were on the line. There simply wasn’t a choice; patients were in need, and he was capable and willing. 

But even augmented, he had his limits, and he was reaching the end of them. He stumbled into his bathroom, in desperate need of a hydro-shower. He was supposed to decontaminate before leaving the infirmary, but he just couldn’t stand the pulses of a sonic shower right now. He could normally force himself to withstand a short barrage when the occasion called for it, but his defenses were rapidly crumbling. Just the idea of being surrounded by waves that he could feel peppering his body and nearly pick up at the edge of his hearing made him want to cringe. Whether his sensitivity to certain sensations was a vestige of his original form or a result of his genetic tampering wasn’t evident, but the results were the same.

He set the water to the precise temperature he favored and stepped in. Ahhhh. Clenched muscles began to loosen as the hot water sluiced over his skin. He stood there for a minute, just letting the spray caress him. He knew he should be scrubbing, or something, but his forward brain felt like it was wrapped in gauze, and his hindbrain was soaking in the delicious heat. He turned around to let the water pepper his back.

Some final bubble of conscious thought floated to the surface, and he retrieved his bathing supplies: a soft cloth that wouldn’t irritate his skin and a liquid soap with an inoffensive scent. He poured the soap onto the cloth and lazily ran it over his arms, his chest. Half-heartedly over his back and arse. He sighed, then bent over enough to get his legs and brush over his genitals on the way back up. He set aside the cloth to run his wet hands over his face. He faced forward into the stream, closing his eyes and resting his hand on the wall to hold himself up. 

He knew he should get out of the shower, but it was cold out there and warm in here. He leaned back into the corner of the stall, head lolling back. His shoulders said this was a good idea, and his legs said it would be even more improved if they could rest. He slid slowly down until he was sitting on the floor, knees bent up in front of him, head still back. 

He might have dozed off, and the fact that he wasn’t sure was enough to stir him a little. He really should get to bed. He groaned. The white noise and soft pressure of the shower were so pleasant, though. If he could just wait a couple more minutes…

_ Beep-bloop, beep-bloop _

That was the one-minute timer. The water was about to shut off.

He ran a hand raggedly over his face once more, then dragged himself to his feet. As he was shutting off the apparatus, he realized that he had forgotten to replicate a towel. He huffed out in exasperation. He’d been using the sonic shower so much lately that he hadn’t bothered, and tonight… well, he just hadn’t remembered.

He stood there, contemplating his options. One: His robe was hanging on the hook behind the door. He could just use that to dry himself off, and then enter his room naked to hunt down some pajamas. Or at least briefs. It didn’t feel like a starkers-in-the-sheets type of night. Two: He could dash out to the replicator uncovered and procure a towel. He knew what the obvious answer should be, but his compartmentalized brain was fighting it. The robe was meant for  _ snuggling,  _ not drying. It was the wrong texture. And it wasn’t flat; it wouldn’t rub smoothly over his body. He had a very specific towel code that he relied on, one that was properly absorbent and gentle on his skin. But it would mean leaving the warmth of the bathroom and venturing out into the relatively chilled air of the main room. He  _ hated _ being cold and wet. Well, he severely disliked it anyway. The only thing worse was being  _ clothed _ and wet.

Undecided, he used his hands to start brushing water off his body. Left arm, right arm, chest and stomach. Left leg, right leg, rear, lower back. Now back to his dilemma: use the robe or retrieve the towel?

Either way, Julian was going to have to leave the stall. He grimaced in anticipation. Wincing, he slid the door open, and was instantly engulfed in a wave of cooler air that began to seep in. He glanced at the robe, but no, he just couldn’t do it. He took a deep breath to fortify himself, and exited the bathroom.

Oh! The air was so cold and dry! Passing through the hall, he already missed the heat and humidity of the other room. But unpleasant as the sensation was, he couldn’t dash. That would be worse, because the rush of air would only make it  _ colder _ .

He minced his way through the living space until he finally reached his destination. It wasn’t until he reached out that he realized the lights were on, and he fuzzily recalled having turned them off. Furrowing his brow, he spun slowly, eyes scanning the room in bleary confusion.

There was a Cardassian lounging on his couch.

“Ah! Doctor! So good to see you,” said Garak, as if he weren’t speaking to a person half-bent forward, knees together, with hands over their crotch. “I see that I have arrived at an inopportune time.” His eyes stayed firmly on Julian’s face, not once flickering lower.

“Um…I…uh…” he stuttered. “Could you please.  _ TURN. AROUND? _ ”

Garak obliged, tutting. “Such modesty. Cardassians have no need for such a notion.”

“Well, if that isn’t bloody spectacular for you,” Julian muttered, typing in the complex code and adding an additional command to produce two copies. Mercifully, the towels appeared, and he wrapped one around his waist. The other was put into service hurriedly drying the rest of him off.

He was starting to rouse from his stupor, but whether it was out of anger, frustration, embarrassment, or some other emotion was anybody’s guess. He latched on to Garak’s last statement. “Are you telling me Cardassians aren’t modest? Garak, your clothes cover every inch of you below your chin.”

“That is a matter of necessity, not modesty,” his friend replied. “The station is much too cold to wear anything less.” That was true. Cardassians hailed from a much warmer climate, and while they weren’t completely ectothermic, they weren’t fully endothermic either. Garak continued. “On Cardassia, nudity is perfectly natural. Unlike  _ other _ species,” he nodded towards the doctor, “some of our more…  _ delicate _ organs are kept internally.”

“In other words, you have nothing to hide, because everything is already hidden,” Julian replied, and if that didn’t sum up Garak perfectly, he didn’t know what did.

“Pre _ cise _ ly. Your understanding of the Cardassian culture is coming along quite nicely, my dear Doctor.”

Julian rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, only for the gesture to remind him that he was clad in a towel. It wasn’t that he was modest either, exactly. He was a doctor, after all. And the tailor had seen him in less during fittings. It was just that… he was still damp from the shower, and they were in his quarters, and it was the middle of the night. And he was just too fatigued to deal with this right now.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, pressing one side of his face into his hand. “But why  _ are _ you here?” Too tired to remain fully upright, he walked over behind a chair facing Garak, and grasped it with both hands to prop himself up.

Garak looked at him sideways, chin tilted slightly upwards the way it got when he was defensive. “Really, Doctor, you’ve just now come to that? I’ve been here for some time already.”

Julian wanted to point out Garak had started it, but he had a feeling it would prompt the other man into calling him childish. As much as he normally enjoyed their verbal charades, he couldn’t bring himself to fire back. But he could force Garak’s hand… “Well, it’s been a  _ lovely  _ talk, and we can continue it at lunch next week. But for now, I’m absolutely  _ wrecked _ .” He winced at the Freudian slip. The survivors of the shuttle crash that he’d worked on flashed through the back of his mind. “I need sleep, now rather than later. You enjoy my couch, and I’m heading off to bed.” He strode as forcefully toward his bedroom as he could. “Goodnight, Garak.”

“Doctor! Wait!” He could hear the cushions shift as Garak lifted himself to hurry after him.

He stopped. Not because his friend had requested it, but because he realized he couldn’t just drop the towel and climb under the blanket. Well, he could. Any other night he might have even entertained the idea seriously. But his body was  _ not _ prepared to follow up on any accidental propositions. Instead, he settled on the side of the bed and stared back at Garak impatiently.

The tailor paused at the doorway to the bedroom, eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He put his hand on the frame, leaning forward, then back. “I did not mean to irritate you. That is my last intention. In fact, it is because of your… current state… that I am here.”

_ My “current state?” Naked? _ Good Lord, had Garak arrived when he was in the shower  _ on purpose? _

“Your exhaustion,” Garak clarified. “You have been working entirely too hard these past two days, and it has worn you down. Now Doctor, I hold you in the  _ deepest _ regard when it comes to your abilities. With the benefits of your enhancements and my training, I trust you to be able to maintain vigilance and protect yourself should the need arrive.” My, he was effusive with the compliments this evening. “However, no doubt your recent efforts have diminished your strength and attention. And so, I am here to offer my services,” he finished with a flourish of his hands and a slight bow.

Julian struggled to keep up. Garak was offering to… watch out for him? Be his body guard? “Wait. Wait.” He pinched his temples. “I’ve had rough times before. What makes this time different?”

He knew that look. It was the 1.5-second pause before the ex-spy spouted out a convenient and utterly false story. “Well, you see. While the new shuttle was out testing its maneuverability, a very particular freighter docked. I’m afraid to say that I have conducted business with these people before, and it was  _ not _ pleasant.” He clasped his hands. “And while they are no longer interested in  _ me _ , they often find themselves in dangerous situations that result in… bodily harm. They are commonly known for seeking out medical attention whenever they have the chance, and they are  _ not _ very kind to those who help them. They have been known to wound their medics numerous times.”

Julian had no clue how much of that was fact and what was fiction. He found that he didn’t much care. There was some kind of danger out there, and so Garak had come over here. It was sweet, even though he’d probably attribute his actions to repaying a debt or some such if Julian said so. “Alright,” he sighed. “Thank you for your concern; it’s much appreciated. But I hope you’re not expecting much conversation. I’m completely knackered, and I’ll probably be asleep very soon.”

“Of course.” Garak nodded. “If I might avail myself of your amenities…?”

“Go right ahead.” As soon as he was alone, Julian switched out his towel for briefs, a light shirt, and shorts. He was sitting up in bed with the sheet and blanket over his legs by the time his friend emerged. A brief wash of tenderness washed over him as he realized that—although this was not the first time Garak had broken into his home—it was the first time he’d been… well,  _ domestic  _ there. Using the facilities and all that. He looked forward to exploring that feeling in more detail. Just not tonight.

Garak settled into the chair near the bed, pulling out his padd for reading material. Julian half expected him to don a pair of reading spectacles, and chuckled to himself, drawing a questioning raise of the eyeridges from his friend. “Nothing, just thinking to myself.” Rather than dignify that with a response, Garak returned to his reading.

Julian wriggled down in the bed, tugging the covers up to his shoulders. He lay on his back for a minute, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t used to sleeping while someone watched over him. It felt unsettlingly like being in the infirmary, only as a patient rather than the doctor. He flipped onto his side, tucking his arm under his pillow. But that wasn’t right, so he flipped to his stomach.

“Doctor, are you always so restless in bed? You’re writhing more than a gree worm.”

_ Wouldn’t you like to know _ , Julian thought. Instead, he said, “Well, sorry,  _ Garak _ . I’m not used to having company as I fall asleep.”

Garak set down his padd and lifted one foot to rest on the other knee, making a triangle of his legs. “I find that  _ very _ hard to believe, my dear Doctor.” Was it Julian’s imagination, or had his tone become a little deeper?

But he knew how to play the game. He groaned in exasperation. “You know what I mean.  _ You _ try to relax while someone guards you, and see how it goes.”

“I assure you, that while I am nearby, I am not actually observing  _ you, _ Doctor. If anything, I am more aware of the  _ environment. _ Afterall, the main reason I am here is to prevent any harm from befalling you.”

“Yes, I remember. But still…”

Garak cleared his throat. “If I am truly making you uncomfortable, then I shall leave. My goal was not to disturb your rest.”

“No!” Julian winced at his too-immediate, too-loud response. “No, it’s fine. I’ll adjust.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

They both fell silent, Garak picking his padd back up, and Julian dragging a second pillow to hug at his side. His muscles unwound infinitesimally, producing a gusty exhale. He closed his eyes. He was sure that Garak coming over had some deeper meaning. It did for him. If there was anyone he’d trust to guard him, it was Garak.

He paused to examine that notion. Was it really true, or was he just thinking that because the very man was there in the room with him? The ex(maybe)-spy indubitably had a diverse skill-set when it came to offense and defense, as he’d demonstrated on numerous occasions. They’d spent so much time together that Julian felt like he probably knew better than anyone else what the man was capable of. But it wasn’t just that. Garak had always listened to him, shown him respect, and guided him. Garak  _ valued _ Julian’s life. And if he did anything to jeopardize Julian’s life (which  _ had _ happened), it was only because he’d weighed every option and decided it was the best course of action. Julian couldn’t hold it against him.

So yes, if it came right down to it, there was no other person in this universe that he’d trust more to watch his back. 

But his mind—however fatigued—worried at the thought like a sabre bear with a targ bone. Compulsively, he began to compose a list. Second in line of those he trusted to protect him was Miles. He was Julian’s best friend and the “Hero of Setlik III.” But after that? Definitely General Martok. The man wasn’t what he would call a friend, but he was an outstanding fighter, and they had developed if not a friendship, then an understanding, at the internment camp. He supposed Captain Sisko would be next. The Captain protected his own and had no qualms about putting an immediate stop to any possible threats to those under his protection. Then Jadzia. While she was more of a friend to him than the General or Captain, she was more of a lover than a fighter. Although one shouldn’t discount her outright; she could hold her own against a Klingon, in any case. Which brought him to Worf and Kira, which he left tied for sixth place. He was beginning to feel too drowsy to continue. He smiled inside his head that Garak would probably approve of this mental exercise if he shared it.

With the knowledge that he was truly safe, and maybe even cared for, he finally dropped off.

***

The first time he woke was only an hour later, when he became aware of Garak shifting in the chair. He opened his eyes to take a peek. The padd was resting on his legs, and he was rubbing his arms vigorously. Of course; he was cold.

“M’sorry, Garak,” he got out. “Why don’t you turn up the thermostat?”

“Oh, I’m sorry to have woken you,” he said contritely. “No, no, I’m fine. But thank you for being so thoughtful.” A scene from early in their acquaintance echoed in his head. _What a THOUGHTFUL_ _young man. How NICE that we’ve met._

“Hmmf.” Well, Garak had better like that he was thoughtful, because he was just going to keep on being that. “I’m not going to let you sit there and  _ freeze _ while you spend your valuable time watching over me. Either grab a blanket or come over here to the bed.”

Garak’s eyes widened just slightly at that. But instead of inquiring as to where he could find a blanket—as Julian had expected—he gathered himself up and stepped over. Julian scooted to the side, leaving room for a second body. Garak didn’t oblige by climbing in, however. He merely sat on the edge, his back to the wall, legs at an angle. “It  _ is _ warmer over here. You are a veritable font of heat.”

_Someday, I’ll share it with you even more._ _You’ll never be cold again._ Julian’s breath caught. While he’d often thought fondly of his friend and desired something more for some time now… he hadn’t really considered anything… long term. It seemed his subconscious had a few words on the subject, though. One more thing for him to revisit. He snuggled back into his pillows, wishing one of them was a Cardassian, and fell back asleep.

***

The second time he woke, he was muzzily aware that his breath was puffing back into his nose and mouth. His face was pressed into Garak’s thigh, and the flesh underneath the fabric was undeniably cold. “Gairk…c’m ta bed,” he mumbled. He was too exhausted to worry about what either of them thought or what it could mean. “S’warmer… in the blankets.” Message delivered, he passed back out.


	2. The Next Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this story! I promise I'm still working on it, and up to 7 chapters now. Since it HAS been over 2 months, I'm making a note that this is neurodivergent Julian, so there's going to be a lot of descriptions of what's going on in his head. But I'm happy with how it's coming out.

Julian awoke to a cramp in his neck. His cheek was smooshed against a solid but pliant surface, which his left arm was also wrapped around. He was torn between wanting to lean his head back and the rest of his body forward. His eyes snapped open when he realized that the lump next to him was  _ Garak. _

Unfortunately, Garak had not laid down next to him. Instead, he was still sitting upright at the very edge of the bed, with just his legs beneath the blanket. It was his lower limbs that Julian had embraced. 

He toyed with pretending to remain asleep, but knew that the tailor (spy, whatever) had probably already noticed the change in his breathing. Even so, he took a deep breath of the musk emanating from beneath the cloth before pulling back to look up. 

A serene face stared down at him. “Good morning, Doctor.” The blue eyes were as alert as ever, the black hair slightly disheveled. It wasn’t how he’d imagined waking up next to Garak for the first time, but it was far from unpleasant. Garak’s eyes flicked down to Julian’s arm, still draped over his legs. Much more awake now, Julian felt the urge to find a way to keep the other man there, in the bed with him. But he hadn’t had time to plan this out, and he was desperately afraid of making a wrong move. No, this was something that needed forethought. If only he’d known Garak was coming over. Reluctantly, he drew away, but slowly, dragging his hand down the thigh before removing it altogether. Had that been a muscle twitch?

He sat up and scooted back so he, too, was leaning against the wall. Their shoulders barely touched. He wanted to ask how the Cardassian’s night had gone, but thought it might sound too trite. Instead, he yawned and stretched his arms up over his head, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it. Out of the corner of his eye, Garak seemed to be paying close attention, so he dropped the arm that was between them but used his other hand to rub at his neck. “Mmm. I must have slept a little funny. Got a crick in the muscles.”

“You seemed quite comfortable to me,” Garak replied, eyes on Julian’s neck. His lips were parted, like he was tasting the air.

Julian dropped his hand in favor of turning to face the tailor. “Must’ve been the company. And what about you? Were  _ you _ comfortable?”

Garak sniffed. “Comfort was the last thing on my mind, Doctor. Comfort can cause a lapse in vigilance.”

Maybe he should file that away for later. If he ever wanted to surprise Garak, or draw some information out of him, he’d have to get him a little  _ relaxed _ first. 

He wanted to continue with some banter, but realized he was a little out of his depth. Usually upon waking with someone, the first order of business was repeating—or improving upon—the previous night’s festivities. Well, that wasn’t the case here. The second step would be an exchange of compliments and platitudes before one of the parties dressed and made an exit. Still not relevant. He was at a loss. Without the normal formula, what was next?

His stomach gave him inspiration. “How do you feel about some breakfast?”

“Oh, that’s hardly necessary. I can break my fast for the morning in my own quarters.”

Could the sleepless night have addled Garak’s brain? Surely, he wouldn’t normally make it  _ that _ easy for Julian. “What about the crew of that freighter? They might still be out and about causing mischief and mayhem. On the lookout for an unsuspecting medical officer to mistreat.” 

To his surprise, Garak acquiesced. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we? What’s on the menu?”

Now that he had direction, Julian bounded out of bed and threw on a short robe. “I’m in the mood for scones with moba berry jam, but I can replicate whatever you like.”

A put-upon sigh sounded from the bedroom as Garak climbed from the bed. “What I wouldn’t give to have  _ real _ food once for breakfast. I’ll just have some taspar eggs. Two of them, hot.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Since this is your humble abode, I’ll forgo the rokassa juice. I know how much you despise the smell. Water, please.” Garak walked into the dining area and paused, taking in Julian’s immodest attire. Was it his imagination, or was Garak blushing? His _liad’Um_ seemed to have grown a little darker.

Julian hid a smile as he called up the food from the replicator. His chest was a pleased jumble of Bajoran flutterbys at the thought of having breakfast with the spy-turned-tailor. In his quarters. In pajamas and a robe. He’d never expected to get the chance to spend time with Garak in this manner, and now he was going to have to figure out a way to repeat the experience. Preferably sooner rather than later.

With a flourish, he presented the food. “One scones with moba berry jam, and one plate of plain and simple eggs.”

They both dug in, silent for the first few minutes. For his part, Julian was caught in a jumble of emotions. First and foremost was a cautious joy that Garak was still in his quarters, content to be in his company under somewhat intimate circumstances. Secondary was idle curiosity as to what the enigmatic Cardassian’s  _ real _ reason was for being there. But there wasn’t much chance of finding out the truth, so he didn’t linger on that thought. And dancing around the edges, threatening to cast a pall on the morning, was ordinary anxiety. Was he eating too fast? Too sloppy? Were his quarters messy enough to offend his guest? Should he be making conversation? 

For the hundredth time, he wondered how other people managed to handle casual interactions. There were just too many factors to take into consideration, and his brain wanted to collect, assess, and address all of them.

“Doctor, if you wish to eat any faster, might I suggest just using a transporter beam from plate to stomach?” 

Julian’s mind had been so busy, he hadn’t even paid attention to his hands and mouth. 

“Is the food truly that terrible, or are you in a dire hurry to be somewhere else?”

“Um, no. No. Nowhere to be for…” he checked the chrono, “another four hours.”

“Lunch plans?”

“I was thinking about surprising Jadzia this afternoon. We haven’t had many chances to spend time together lately, and Kaga just got in a fresh shipment of krada legs at the Klingon restaurant. What about you? What are you doing today?”

Garak heaved a sigh. “Nothing terribly exciting, I regret to inform you. Such is the life of a tailor. I have some children’s clothing to repair for the O’Briens and Vilix’Prans brood, a fitting appointment, and a commission for a  _ very  _ large and ornate dress for a  _ very  _ picky and flamboyant ambassador.”

Julian laughed. “Let me guess: Lwaxana Troi.”

“Indeed. The stitching and sequins have taken a week already. And I have yet to begin the embroidery. Not to mention the sleeves.” He didn’t just roll his eyes; he rolled his whole head. 

“Well, the last gown you made for her turned quite a few heads,” Julian supplied. “I hear she received another marriage proposal the very night she wore it.”

“Did she now.” His voice was sarcastic, but there was a flicker of pride behind his eyes.

“Lwaxana turned her down. The Queen of some moon, I believe. Said she had her eye on someone else. By the way… didn’t you and her have lunch together before she left?”

“Lunch and dessert, actually. In her quarters. We… talked for some time. She has rather interesting ideas about Betazoid literature and philosophy and how they’ve influenced politics in the southern portion of the quadrant.”

Julian felt a glimmer of jealousy. He’d meant to just tease Garak a little, and instead found out he’d… he’d what? “And did you agree with her?” On the one hand, he wanted the tailor to have disagreed with her, because he  _ never _ agreed with Julian, and it didn’t seem fair that someone who behaved so vapidly to be a better opponent than him. On the other hand, if Garak had disagreed with her and argued his point, well… everyone knew that Cardassians flirted through debate. And Lwaxana did love talking.

“Well, of course not. She laid entirely too much credit at the doorstep of her people. Betazoids are a creative and passionate people, but leaders and strategists they are not.”

Which didn’t really address Julian’s concern. He still didn’t know if they’d… debated.

Garak placed his utensils across the plate to dab at his face. “Thank you for the breakfast, Doctor, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome, and I do have a lot to accomplish today.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble Garak. Here, let me get that for you.” He took the pile of discarded items over to the reclamation unit to give himself a moment. 

When he turned around, the tailor was already at the door. Julian took a few quick strides there to say a proper goodbye. “Garak… thank you. For coming over, and um, being here.”  _ Real smooth, Agent Bashir, _ he berated himself.

A polite incline of the head. “Think nothing of it.”

A lock of hair slipped forward with the nod, and without thinking, Julian reached up to sweep it back into place, behind Garak’s ear. Now  _ that _ was smooth.

However, rather than the customary swooning kiss he would have been awarded in the holosuites, Garak just gave him a piercing look.

Well. It was better than getting his hand slapped away.

***

As soon as the door hissed shut, Julian swept about his quarters, clearing up all the messes he could find. They had made no plans for Garak to return, but he wanted to be ready just in case. Dirty clothes were cleaned up, dishes recycled, tables wiped down. Data rods and books were put back into their proper places. Once the floor was clean, he set the sonic vacuum out to attack the carpets.

In his bedroom, Julian changed out the bedsheets for something decidedly cleaner and… smoother. His Federation faux-satin sheets would have to do, although he wondered how much a set of Andorian silk would cost. Those would not only slide sensually over the skin, but were known for their heat-retention properties. What color would Garak appreciate the most? His wardrobe tended toward the darker shades, from merlot to forest green. Maybe a deep blue? He grew momentarily distracted by the image of the royal hue reflecting off of Garak’s skin.

It wasn’t until he sat down on top of the recently-adjusted blanket that he realized he was going through his traditional pre-date preparations. Was he really planning on wooing and bedding the Cardassian tailor? It had been several years now, with no indication from either of them that things were likely to progress. And yet… he’d wanted it. He’d given a formal relationship serious consideration. Had literally dreamed about dates. Had occasionally fantasized about the sex.

But Garak had taken the first step, right? Their first meeting had been an all-out flirtation, complete with sensual glances and blatant fondling of the shoulders, which everyone knew was audacious for a Cardassian. Of course, he’d been under the influence of the implant at the time, so Julian had reluctantly put that down to being under the influence of mind-altering substances. 

But now… Garak had come to his quarters. Late. And not like the time when they went to Bajor. He’d spent the night, even sat in Julian’s bed. They’d had breakfast together. Even now, he enjoyed the warm, fuzzy feeling that permeated his chest at the memory.

He wanted it to happen again.

And he wanted more.

Julian stood up and began pacing the room. He stopped in front of Kukalaka, perched on his shelf. “What do you think, old friend?” He felt mildly silly speaking to a stuffed animal, but the creature had been his confidant for as long as he could remember. His parents hadn’t exactly encouraged close friendships, worried that he’d expose too much information to anyone that he formed a connection with. So obviously, counselors and psychologists had been out of the question. Which left his stuffed animal. And yes, as a doctor, he was aware that in confiding to his bear, he was really just talking to himself. But if he had good advice, did it matter in the end? 

The toy stared silently back, arms open wide. 

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he replied.

He headed to the refresher to make the space more presentable, wiping down the sink, putting away his beauty products, and hanging up the towels. Should he do something to the shower? Did Garak take sonic showers, or did he prefer water? Julian had access to both, but he thought that non-Starfleet residents might have to pay for any luxuries. In that case, he called up a soap that he thought might have a pleasing scent to sensitive Cardassian noses and set it in the cubicle.

Once his home was arranged to what he hoped were Garak’s standards, he sat down and set about tracking through the station’s transportation logs. He wasn’t terribly surprised to find that the only freighter to have docked in the past 3 days was that of Captain Yates. Garak couldn’t have been referring to her crew, so Julian was left with a conundrum. There was some reason, some event that had prompted his friend to break in and spend the night, supposedly to watch over a compromised companion. He scanned all other arrivals and departures, but nothing stood out. 

With a defeated sigh, he logged off the console. Maybe he’d stop by Security on the way to lunch with Jadzia. Odo might have a unique insight.

***

The constable hadn’t been in his office, so Julian booked a quick 30-minute episode in a holosuite. The Risan beach he’d called up may not have been real, but the lamps were able to sufficiently mimic sunlight, so he stripped off his shirt to enjoy the rays for a few minutes. Several of the station’s inhabitants who didn’t regularly visit the holosuite or make use of their sunlamps were systematic visitors to the infirmary, chronically low on Vitamin D. Which was why, whatever program he ran, Julian always made sure to spend some time “outdoors.”

He felt somewhat rejuvenated by the time lunch rolled around, and joined Jadzia in a fairly relaxed and peaceful mood.

“Julian! You look like you’re enjoying your day off. How’ve you been? Up to anything interesting? Have you done anything--or anyone--exciting?” She flashed her trademark roguish grin.

He considered telling her about his nighttime visitor but quickly decided against it. He didn’t want to jinx it, seeing as nothing had really happened. And when had he become superstitious, anyway? “I just returned from a lovely visit to Risa. I went to that one beach with the coral sand. You know the one.” He winked. It was a nude beach.

She laughed. “I’ve never been, but Curzon remembers it.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Worf and I never made it there. Maybe next time.”

Julian shook his head. “Is there anywhere Curzon  _ hasn’t _ been? It seems like he’s done a little bit of everything.”

“I know! It was such an adjustment to make when I joined with Dax. Here I was, this shy and bookish Trill who hadn’t even left the homeworld except for Starfleet Academy. And I wasn’t exactly a party animal  _ there _ . Well. Until that final year, after the joining.” Julian couldn’t imagine the young lady she was describing. He’d only ever known the impulsive, passionate, daring Dax. “He opened my eyes, let me tell you!” 

“I’m sure.” He replied. “But do you ever miss it? Being just Jadzia, who you were before the symbiont?” It was something he’d always wondered about. Their lives held a vague parallel, both of them having undergone a complete genetic, intellectual, and emotional overhaul. Only hers had been by choice after a couple decades of deliberation, while his had been forced upon him at an early age.

She sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “You know, sometimes. But mostly, I just marvel at all of the knowledge and experiences I’ve gained. I can’t imagine going back to my life before this.  _ Seven _ lifetimes in my head. It’s almost like being immortal.” Her eyes lost focus as she stared off into the distance. “You remember when we got sent back in time to the first Enterprise?” He nodded; it would be hard to forget. “I have  _ memories _ from that time. And before it. Oh Julian, I can’t tell you how lucky I feel to have been born a Trill.”

This was one of the reasons he was drawn to Jadzia. Not just that she was friendly, open, and  _ fun _ (to the nth degree), but that she held so much  _ information _ . Combined with Dax, her intelligence likely rivaled his own augmented brains. She’d graduated Starfleet in the 98th percentile, which was no easy feat. When he’d met her, he’d been fascinated and probably infatuated. Finally, someone who could match him wit for wit. 

Unfortunately, he’d come on much too strong in the beginning. And probably seemed more than a little desperate. Looking back on it now, he’d been so  _ immature _ then.

But despite his transgressions, she’d still accepted his friendship, and these days they met as often as possible for trips to the holosuites, meals, and the occasional dash in the runabout to some unknown space anomaly. The initial physical attraction had worn down to be replaced with mutual appreciation, admiration, and a literal galaxy’s worth of science discussions. 

When-- _ if _ \--anything happened with Garak, she’d probably be the first to know.

***

Falling asleep wasn’t always easy for Julian. Having a brain that was stuffed to the brim with facts and never wanted to shut up might have something to do with it. Every thought or memory carried a dozen tangents, each of which trailed even more associations. He could lie down considering the inconsistencies of Klingon antibodies, only to muse over the unique tectonics of Vulcan not 5 minutes later. And wander over to the serialist poetry by Iloja of Prim soon after.

It didn’t help that he was still keyed up over Garak’s visit the previous night. With the addition of adrenaline (and a few other hormones), he didn’t stand much chance of getting a restful night in before his early shift the next day.

He’d tried the many white noise programs in the computer, all of them in fact, but his augmented brain could pick up the hitch between replays or repeated sounds as the recordings cycled through. For a while, he’d been able to mix the programs and play more than one at a time. “Distant Thunder,” “Rain on the Lake,” and “Ocean at Night,” played in conjunction  _ almost _ produced a random, natural effect. But after only a week, his brain had memorized the arrangements and begun to anticipate the upcoming rumbles, splashes, and waves.

Oddly enough, he found the noises of the infirmary comforting and comfortably erratic. Enough so that he tried recording the background noises to use back in his quarters. Unfortunately, there was a dampening field in place around the entire unit to ensure privacy of the patients and confidential medical information, which prevented the use of recording devices. And he couldn’t exactly  _ sleep  _ in the infirmary, either. The beds were needed for patients, and it made the nurses uneasy.

Julian’s solution was to drag a cot (meant for visitors) from the infirmary into the medical lab. It was usually vacated at night, so he could fiddle with the volume settings on machinery and maybe run a few unnecessary diagnostic programs on samples, then settle down with a pillow and light blanket. The fans of the extra-strength filters in the air vents created a pleasant background whoosh, while the clicks, hums, beeps, and trills of the lab equipment canceled out the incessant jumble of words and pictures flashing through his brain.

He tried to limit his nocturnal visits to only once every few weeks, lest someone grow suspicious. Not that he would get in trouble for it, just that everyone already thought he was a little eccentric, and this wouldn’t help matters.

Julian dressed in his softest civvies and made his way to the lab. He didn’t pass many residents, and nodding to Odo seemed to forestall any of the Constable’s prying questions. Once safely shut into the room, he disabled the movement sensor that would turn on the lights whenever it detected his presence. He wished he could have brought Kukalaka, but there just wasn’t any good excuse he could think of to be trotting around the station with a ratty plush bear. He stretched out on his back, pulling the blanket up to his neck and tucking it under his shoulders, then manipulated the bottom under his feet so that he was snug. Lulled by the pressure against his skin and the staccato sounds of gadgets hard at work around him, Julian finally drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

He dreamed of Cardassians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like longer works, I currently have 2 Garak/Bashir stories in progress that are 7+ chapters, in addition to this one. I’ll probably post them a chapter at a time instead of waiting until they’re finished, because it makes me feel more accomplished. :P  
> But it IS going to progress slowly from here on out. Work and family obligations are taking up a lot of my time.


	3. The Rogue Changeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess you can call it a slow burn since I only update this every 2 months or so...

The Battle of Britain again. It was one of Miles’ favorites, and Julian always went along with it, because one: he was a good friend, and two: he liked flying crafts that you could actually _see_ out of, instead of through a viewscreen. And when they dropped, you could really _feel_ the drop in your stomach and chest, like your organs were trying to escape up your throat and out of your mouth. It could be bloody spectacular if they didn’t have to fight off the Germans at the same time. Every time.

Miles was righteous with indignation. “We would’ve bloody won if you’d yelled ‘fire!’ instead of ‘toton phorpedoes!’”

Julian giggled. “Photon tork—” He squinted. “Photon… torpedoes!” He stopped suddenly, assessing the tight spiral staircase that led from the holosuites to the main floor. It looked like a loooong way down. 

Miles crashed into him, causing him to flail and grasp the hand rails as he lurched forward. “Hey, why’d ya stop?”

“Hold your horses, Chief. I’m going, I’m going.” He took an experimental step, and when he didn’t pitch forward, minced his way toward the lower floor. One. Step. At a. Time.

To his relief, a bemused gray face greeted him halfway down. “Dr. Bashir! So good to see you. And how very fortunate for you that I was working late this evening. You seem in need of assistance.” Without waiting for a reply, Garak looped their arms and escorted his inebriated human friend the rest of the way down the stairs.

When Julian’s brain caught up, he came to an abrupt halt. “Working late? Garak, it’s after 2500 hours!” 

Miles bumped into his back again. “Sorry, sorry,” the Irishman mumbled. “Why ya keep stoppin?”

Garak leaned around Julian. “Chief, I’m going to take the doctor here back home before he injures himself. Would you like me to contact your wife?”

“Wha…? No, it’s fine, Garak. I’ll make it.” Miles clapped Julian on the shoulder. “It’s your turn next. You wan’ me to play Falcon again?” 

Julian tried slapping him back and missed. “Maybe not the secret agent again. I got some new programs. Let’s go over those at lunch some time this week and try a new one.”

“M’right.” O’Brien staggered off in the general direction of the turbo lifts.

Julian made to follow him, but Garak led him first in the direction of the bar. “Let’s get you hydrated, my dear doctor.” It was only after he’d completed a glass of water that the tailor let him make his way home. They were mostly quiet all the way back to the habitat ring, Julian lost in his thoughts over the aerial battle and the options he’d offer Miles for their next meetup, Garak content to steer him away from the bulkheads when he grew too distracted.

Once they returned to his quarters, Julian took 3 tries to key in his code before the door allowed him entry. And then, the lip caught his foot and he stumbled forward, only to be steadied by a firm Cardassian grip. Garak squeezed the leather bomber jacket encasing his arm. “Are you _in there_ somewhere, Doctor?”

Julian found himself leaning into the touch. “Mmm, yes. These coats are supposed to be thick, you know. The padding keeps you warm when you’re at high altitudes. And I think they were supposed to provide a little protection in case of a crash.” He looked down at his chest. “Not much, though.”

He removed the garment once he reached his bedroom, draping it over a dresser while using a hand to brace himself on the door frame. When he turned around, he realized Garak was still there with him. “I’m a bit, er, sweaty, so I’m going to clean up. Thank you for helping me make it home safely, Garak.”

The Cardassian raised his chin slightly, regarding the doctor shrewdly. “I don’t understand the human need for becoming intoxicated before visiting the holosuites,” he said, shaking his head. “You seem to enjoy it, although it seems counterintuitive to performing your best during a battle. Is this some bonding ritual of your species?”

 _Why? Do you want to bond with me, Garak?_ he asked inside his head. Instead of voicing it, he just rolled his eyes. “It’s about having a good time, not winning. Besides, we only had a synthale _fefore,_ I mean _before_ the program. All this,” he hiccupped, “is from the celebratory whiskey after we won. Not that I’d expect you to understand that. Enjoying yourself is probably a crime on Cardassia, unless it benefits the State.”

Garak smirked at him disdainfully. “And I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand the finer intricacies of a superior culture on a normal day, much less in your current inebriated state. Go take that shower before you embarrass yourself, Doctor.” Julian thought the words were a bit harsh, but the sting abated when one corner of the tailor’s mouth twitched as if he was holding back a smile.

Julian let out an undignified snort. “Only a Cardassian would call indoctrination and duty over _fun_ a superior culture.” He could feel the effects of the alcohol already weakening as his augmented liver worked double-time and began to rally himself. “By the way, after 2100 hours, you have to call me Julian,” he instructed, taking a step into the Cardassian’s space. 

Thrown off his stride, Garak blinked and stared for a moment. “Alright, Julian,” he answered, voice lower than normal. But his cheeky demeanor quickly reasserted itself. “Now do you need help getting yourself cleaned up, or do you think you can manage?”

Oh, Julian could feel a definite lurch inside at that question. It was so tempting to feign being more feeble than he was, just to see how far Garak would take it. But he wasn’t quite ready to call that bluff just yet (it _was_ a bluff, wasn’t it?), so he made his way into the refresher.

After all the sweat that had built up under his flight suit, the sonic shower just didn’t seem to do the trick, so Julian switched over to the hydraulic setting. He adjusted it to be just a little cooler than usual to help him clear his head.

So. Garak was back. He might be spending the night again. Why did the tailor have to only show up when Julian wasn’t thinking clearly? It wasn’t exactly that he was exhausted, although sleep would be welcome. But he was definitely not operating with a fully charged warp core. Damn puzzling spy. What was he up to this time? And would the night progress further than the previous visit? What if…?

His mind blanked out before a couple scenarios ran though, unbidden. Garak over him. Garak under him. Garak naked.

He pushed a button to make the water colder. Maybe a quick wank would help him clear the cobwebs. And get his mind out of the lower decks. His hand wandered down to stroke idly.

But Cardassians had a really sensitive sense of smell, didn’t they? Would Garak be able to tell what he was doing, or what he had done once he got out? And what would he think about that? Better not risk it. The hand reluctantly withdrew. No naughtiness for now. 

He hurried through the rest of his routine, toweling off and brushing his hair a little more roughly than usual in an attempt to quell the puddle of warmth below his waist that kept threatening to embarrass him. “Down, boy,” he muttered at his crotch, before concealing it with briefs and flannel bottoms. An Academy t-shirt rounded out the ensemble, and he exited the chamber.

Garak wasn’t waiting for him in the bedroom, which was simultaneously a blessing and distressing. Julian heaved a deep breath and wandered into the living room. He burst into laughter, a light-hearted, relieved release after the stress of battle.

The ex-Obsidian Order agent was kneeling on the floor and feeling around beneath the dining table, no doubt searching for any concealed recording devices. He startled, rising to his feet quickly and scraping his arm on the tabletop. “Ah, Doctor! I thought I detected a slight wobble and decided to check this piece of furniture’s structural integrity.” He patted it twice, firmly. “Starfleet _has_ been known to sacrifice solidity and sturdiness in all manners of mass production. But! I believe I have remedied the problem, and your meals shall now progress unhindered.”

 _Garak, you are so full of bullshit,_ Julian thought fondly. “Oh really? What did you do, tighten a self-sealing stembolt or two?”

Garak grimaced disapprovingly. “Now, Doc- Julian. Those are for industrial use, not domestic,” he sidestepped.

Julian approached the table, giving it a rough jiggle. “It _does_ seem much improved, Garak. _Thank_ you.” Now that they were face to face, he finally asked the question he’d been holding back. “By the way, will you be spending the night again? Now that I’ve made it home in one piece, you don’t have to stay.” _No! Don’t make it sound like you want him to leave!_ “Unless… you have a reason to?” He inched just a tiny bit closer. “Am I in danger again, Garak?”

The dark look in the Cardassian’s eyes suggested that yes, he was indeed in danger, but not from any external forces. Only those that existed here in this room, between them.

The silence lasted just a moment too long, only for a few breaths but palpable nonetheless, before Garak broke it. “In the middle of this unfortunate war, we are _all_ of us in danger, Doctor, some more often than others. Like you, for example. While many of us are merely empty faces in a vast crowd of those the Founders wish to conquer, you have the distinction of being _quite_ visible. For multiple reasons.” It was a lie. It had to be. But Julian could still feel his stomach tightening in worry, drawn in despite himself.

“They made you their prisoner at the internment camp, where you not only annoyed them into placing you into solitary confinement but then managed to _escape_ , and really, that was only a _minor_ offence to the Vorta.... No, your great transgression was solving the dilemma of the Blight on the Teplan homeworld. The Dominion meant that to be a _permanent_ punishment to the people’s resistance. And then you came along and ended the systematic and painful decimation of their population, and worst of all, provided them with _hope_ .” He shook his head remorsefully, pressing his lips together. “While the Founders do have much larger enemies to be pursuing, I have it under good authority that there is on occasion a Changeling who goes rogue, much like our good Constable. There is one that is rumored to have taken an interest in your work and--shall we say-- _ending_ it.”

Julian’s stomach was all knotted up now. But he held out on the chance that this really was a cover for something else. He probed. “And you think the rogue changeling is headed here? Don’t we do sensor sweeps and check all of the boarding passengers?”

The look cast upon him was deeply exasperated. “As if that could stop a creature with thousands of years experience from invading our stronghold. It wouldn’t even have to arrive on a ship; it could just fly through space and enter through one of the station's numerous venting systems.” He stared pointedly at a grate in the wall. “And enter your suite through one.”

That sounded plausible. But Julian had already worked out what to ask next. “This sounds like a massive flaw in our defenses, with such a strong possibility of us being in danger of a security breach. Have you discussed this with Odo, then?” 

Garak raised his hands, as if stalling off any undue panic. “Now Julian, you know how sensitive the Constable is about his heritage. I wouldn’t want to cause him any more distress than he’s already experienced. Let’s spare him the discomfort of having to consider fighting another of his kin. Besides, I have set up plenty of my own surveillance devices in any likely points of entrance. I assure you that I have the situation firmly under control.”

And there was Julian’s answer. If this had been a _real_ concern, Garak would have brought it to the attention of both Odo _and_ Captain Sisko. He wasn’t the type to fight alone when he could garner support from multiple corners. Although the idea of him going vigilante wasn’t entirely off the table.

Julian chose to believe Occam’s razor: the simplest explanation is most likely the right one. Garak was lying about why he was there, but he wasn’t going to give the truthful reason until he was good and ready. And if that meant they were going to spend another evening in each other’s company, maybe even share a bed again, then the doctor wasn’t going to complain.

“Well, if you’re sure you have everything under wraps, then I leave myself in your capable hands, Garak.” The Cardassian’s eyes flashed again, looking far darker than their customary Federation blue (although Julian wouldn’t be caught dead referring to them that way aloud). He yawned. “But I am getting a bit knackered. I think I’m ready to turn in for the night. Were you wanting to stay out here, or did you want to…” He turned back toward the bedroom and gestured toward the bed, unsure of how to phrase his invitation.

Garak paused for a beat longer than usual before answering. “Well, I would be in a better position to defend you from in there. If you don’t mind sharing your comforter again, of course.”

“No, not all. That’s what friends are for, right?” _Oh, that sounded bloody horrible, Julian._

But the Cardassian wasn’t put off. He just tilted his head. “You consider me a friend, Doctor?”

Surprised, Julian’s eyebrows jumped up. “Yes! Of course, Garak. I’ve considered us friends for a long time now. After all our lunches, and all we’ve been through… Of-Of course,” he stammered. Flashes of private moments blinked through his memory. “But surely you knew that. I mean, you let me stay with you when Tain--when your father--” Oh gods, they’d never talked about that afterward, and here he was, bringing it up in casual conversation, because he just couldn’t filter his thoughts while speaking at the same time, and now Garak was going to be hurt, or offended, or scandalized, and would probably want to leave. He deflated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. Just forget about it.”

“No, it’s alright, Doctor. I understand how you would draw that conclusion.” Julian’s heart dropped. “You see, Cardassians have a very different perspective on friendship than Humans do. Our term for ‘friend’ would translate more into something like, ‘one to whom you are mutually obligated.’ In that sense, you and I have been friends since not long after we met. You helped me to plague Dukat and his schemes multiple times, while I helped you to establish a presence on the station and to improve your taste in literature. Since then, we’ve both managed to develop a considerable debt to one another. Your witnessing Tain’s death was nothing more than a balancing of the scales, an obligatory transaction of services.”

Julian frowned. “That sounds almost Ferengi. It sounds… cold. Detached. I had thought that you wanted me there for- for support, or something.” Did Garak really just see him as a responsibility? A trading partner?

The Cardassian averted his eyes. “Well, in some relationships, a sense of _trust_ may arise, even affection to some degree. Knowing that you have served a person well enough for them to be there when you are in need could convey the impression of having support, and that only serves to strengthen the bond. But you meant _emotional_ support, didn’t you. So sentimental, even for a human.” He studied a sculpture on a shelf across the room. “And in that sense, yes, I suppose I did want that. I was losing the one person in the galaxy who knew me best, had known me the longest, and I didn’t want to be alone when he passed.” He finally turned to face Julian squarely. “Now that he’s gone, that position falls to you. So you see, Doctor, my debt to you is substantial. Possibly even life-long.” He bowed his head and splayed his hands out at his sides, almost subserviently.

Mollified, Julian chose to lighten the mood. “No need to be so dramatic about it, Garak. I get it. You owe me. I’ll be sure to keep that in my back pocket and save it for a rainy day.”

“And today’s forecast calls for thunderstorms. Thus my presence in your quarters.”

Julian couldn’t resist the tugging at the corners of his mouth. Garak had such wonderful turns of phrase. “Then let us away to shelter, good fellow. My blankets are warm and dry.”

They retired to the bed together, setting down on either side, Julian to shove the pillows up against the headboard and Garak to doff his shoes. They climbed under the comforter at the same time, leaning back into the pillows with their legs stretched out but not close enough to touch. 

They sat there awkwardly for a moment before Julian decided to risk a gamble. “That battle in the holosuite was brutal. My shoulders are killing me. I don’t suppose you’ve ever gone undercover as a masseuse?”

The look cast upon him was calculating. He tried to look harmless and unassuming, adopting his typical gormless façade from the days when no one knew he was an augment.

“I have been many things in my time, Doctor, but a masseuse is not one of them.”

Feeling a little impulsive from the synthale (or so he told himself), Julian made another attempt. “Care to try? You can practice on me.” He squeezed a tight muscle above his clavicle and winced. 

Garak’s eyes gravitated to the juncture where neck met shoulder, and Julian could swear the dip in the chufa on his forehead began to flush blue. When he raised his stare to meet Julian’s, he looked more serious than their teasing normally warranted. “Cardassians are not so casual about massage as humans are, Doctor. Especially… there.”

Yes, Julian imagined that was so. While he, as a human, was unadorned, Garak’s ridges looked somewhat sensitive. Especially now, as they appeared to swell slightly and echo the bluish tinge on his face. It made sense that Cardassian uniforms and clothing had such stiff collars; they would protect the neck without over-stimulating it. He wondered how exactly it felt for them to be caressed there; during his experience with Garak’s nervous system while removing the implant, he’d developed a detailed map of his neurons. From what he could tell, the nerve clusters that ran along those scales were roughly equivalent to those found centralized in the chests of mammals. 

The realization made him mentally back off. If touching a Cardassian’s humerocollic ridges was akin to brushing a human’s breasts (specifically the nipples), then that wasn’t an avenue he was quite ready to travel yet. Not without a little romance beforehand, anyway. An idea began to take shape in his head, but he tucked it away for the time being, and smiled to show Garak there were no hard feelings. “Sure, fine. I’ll just go replicate a heating pad.”

As soon as he dialed one up on the replicator, it occurred to him that Garak might appreciate one, too. His finger was poised to press the ‘repeat’ button when he paused. Without any other heat source, his semi-ectothermic companion would be more likely to snuggle up to _him_ for warmth. It felt a little manipulative, but surely the Cardassian was bright enough to procure his _own_ if he really felt the need for it. With that resolved, he returned to the bed.

Garak had pulled out his padd again, and appeared to be engrossed in a text. When Julian climbed back in, he leaned closer to take a peek. To his dismay, it was displayed in Cardassian. He couldn’t ask Garak to have it translated, because then _he_ wouldn’t be able to read it. Resigned, he started to shuffle himself down the bed. 

“Did you want to read, too, Doctor?”

“Hm? Oh, well, it’s okay. I should probably get some sleep.” But he was still curious. “What is it you’re reading?”

Garak’s eyes flitted back and forth before answering. “A Cardassian children’s tale. I haven’t seen this one in decades.”

“That sounds fascinating! Tell me about it.”

Garak tapped the screen a few times, then rotated it. “Here, why don’t you just read, too.” 

When Julian sat back up, the display was split in half, with Cardassian on the one side and Federation Standard on the other. They each had their own scroll bar, so both could read at their own pace. “Wow, thanks,” he said quietly. Without thinking, he scooted in closer, hands in his lap and pressed against Garak’s arm for a better view. 

Simultaneously, they both drew their knees up, creating a mount for the device. Garak set it down between them. They took up their reading, and even reached down to scroll at the same time. 

The story was, of course, about a child’s duty to the state, but it also contained a talking vole as the villain, so it was at least mildly entertaining. Or maybe the vole was a minion? There was also a corrupt Gul, but he couldn’t tell if they were working together. The child had to cross a desert of blue sand (there weren’t _actually_ any of those on Cardassia, were there?) and enlist the help of a newly-graduated engineer to expose the Gul. Except the vole had an underground base hidden in the basement of an abandoned bakery, where he kept a regiment of poisonous walking fish that were somehow influencing the election of a competing Gul.

Julian was certain he was missing a great deal of symbolism, but he enjoyed himself nonetheless. It still had something of a fairytale feel to it, just like tales from his own childhood. 

Three immensely long chapters in, he found himself nodding off, and instinctively inched lower under the blanket to rest his head against Garak’s shoulder. The fabric was thick and stiff against his cheek, like it had been starched. It smelled of detergent and the tailor’s shop. Or maybe that was the way his quarters smelled, too. Julian hadn’t been there in years. Beneath the aroma was something else, something metallic and salty and dry, that was possibly the scent of Garak himself. 

His eyes were fluttering shut when the screen went dark. Garak didn’t turn it back on. He just spoke a soft command. “Computer: lights off.” And then, even quieter, “Goodnight, Julian.”


End file.
